


Product of Chorus

by mar_map



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Dad!Wash, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, He tries so hard, Lots of cuddles, M/M, RvB Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9901847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mar_map/pseuds/mar_map
Summary: Seven months ago Lavernius Tucker died a hero on the Staff of Charon, helping to save an entire planet.Six months ago his son Junior moved to Chorus to live with his father's long-standing partner Washington.  Now Washington's just trying to figure out how to deal with the fallout from a war as well as being a new father.  Junior's new imaginary friend is making the last bit a whole lot harder than Washington anticipated, especially when that imaginary friend may not be so imaginary after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! This was written for the 2016/17 Red vs Blue Big Bang. It's the first one I've done for this fandom, and I'm pleased I was able to participate this year :)
> 
> The art was created by the wonderful Ashley St Lawrence over on Tumblr, and if you haven't seen any of her stuff, you should definitely look it up. I really can't thank her enough for all the effort she put into the Big Bang this year.

Washington let out a soft sigh, the scent of Tucker’s shampoo sharp in his nose. Years of Freelancer training and chronic insomnia kept him from sleeping past five, and if the small amount of light coming through the window to his right was anything to go by, today was no different. Tucker continued to snore while Washington snuggled in close to his back, pressing soft kisses against his neck. A warm feeling bubbled up in his throat, and he couldn’t help but smile against Tucker’s skin. He’d wake up any time of the morning with no complaints if it meant he had these few quiet hours of Tucker’s skin pressed with his. A long exhale caused Tucker to shift, and Washington paused waiting to see if he was just adjusting or if the breath had woken him. Groaning softly, Tucker rolled over onto his back, head pillowed on one of his arms. Drool had dried against his face, and Washington couldn’t help but wipe it away with a smile.

Smoothing Tucker’s dreads away from his face, Washington leaned down to press a kiss against the corner of Tucker’s mouth. One of Washington’s favorite things about Tucker was his warmth; he was always hot to the touch and prided himself in being Washington’s personal heat warmer. There had perhaps been jokes about Washington being a cat, drawn to the heat Tucker exuded, only Tucker was cold now, skin chilled. It caused Washington frown, a pit forming in his stomach. “Tucker?” he whispered quietly, but his words shattered the illusion.

Washington woke up to a dark room, alone in his bed. He let out a long breath, clenching his eyes and fists closed as he turned to the side, away from his illusionary Tucker. After a long moment he reached out to turn on the light beside the bed. The clock showed four, and Washington knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anymore. He laid back for a few minutes more, not willing to get up while the warm feeling from his dream still permeated through his person. It was almost like he could still feel the warm press of a body against his, hear the soft sighs of Tucker’s breath.

Staring up at the ceiling, he began to count the cracks. It wasn’t the first time since he’d been moved into the residential sector of Armonia that he’d gone through this routine. After six months, he could already follow the lines on the ceiling with his finger up and eyes closed. He knew each turn of the fourteen cracks and fifty-six paint chips. Of all the places in Armonia, the residential sector had maintained much of its integrity throughout the war, mostly because as the war intensified, everyone had been full-throttle into the effort, moving to the make-shift barracks that had been designed for the Feds on the other side of the city.

He spent a long time tracing lines on the ceiling because when he next looked at the clock it read seven, and with a groan, Washington pushed himself up to standing. Junior would be awake and out of bed soon, and Washington wanted to have breakfast on the table before then.

On his feet, Washington began his standard day. He stepped across the hall, briefly checking on Junior, fast asleep in his bed, before heading down the hall and stepping into the shower. One of the best things about living on-planet rather than off was the availability of pressurized hydraulic showers. The beat of the water was relaxing against his skin, pounding out the last of the aching from his muscles from the recovery effort in the city the day before. He washed the remnants of his dream down the drain with the water.

While eating outside the still-functioning Armonian mess hall was a somewhat difficult practice, Washington had learned to make due in recent months. Food was still somewhat scarce while they attempted to rebuild the planet; it had been easiest on the planet’s residents to keep the mess hall running. It was also a place that made Junior incredibly uncomfortable with his limited human experience. Washington had learned quickly how best to pilfer food from the mess hall kitchens in true gold team style to save Junior the anxiety.

If anyone had noticed the missing rations, well, they hadn’t said anything about it.

Throwing a few slices of bread into a make-shift toaster Simmons had thrown together, Washington poured two glasses of juice. Sliding the cups onto the kitchen island, the toaster began to hum. Washington pulled the toast out of the roaster dividing the slices onto different plates. The porcelain was smoked over in a sort of grey color, but the china was mostly intact. He laid the plates on the island just as Junior made his way into the kitchen.

He rubbed at his eyes, mouth stretched wide in a yawn. Scrunching himself up onto one of the island’s wooden chairs, he scarfed down his breakfast in quick gulps. “How did you sleep?” Washington asked, settling into his own seat, opposite the kid. Washington had noticed quickly that the young alien had trouble sleeping at night. Perhaps it was his own nightmares and sleep inhibitors that had clued him in, helped him notice Junior’s restlessness. He’d brought the situation up with Dr. Grey who’d put Junior on a sleeping medication, one that over half the citizens of Chorus were already on; all casualties of war. With his time as an ambassador and his father killed, Junior was no exception.

Washington refused the medication for himself, despite Dr. Grey’s disapproval. He knew Carolina had done the same.

“Sleep good,” Junior answered. Despite his time with Tucker and the rest of the simulation troopers in the past, Junior’s English was disjointed, but it was something that Washington had quickly grown accustomed to. Instead, what was pleasantly surprising was Junior’s answer. It was the first time since arriving on Chorus that Junior had made any indication that he’d had any semblance of a good night’s sleep, even with the aid of the sleeping pills. While Washington silently appraised the other, he noticed the way Junior kept glancing to his side, not avoiding Washington’s gaze necessarily, but rather he was paying an undue amount of attention to the empty chair at his side.

 

“Junior, is everything okay?”

Startled, Junior lurched in his chair before scrambling to his feet. “Go change,” he said quickly, leaving a nearly finished breakfast on the table. Washington watched him go with a frown. He was far from convinced that everything was fine, but he also didn’t want to push Junior. He’d had a hard enough time getting any semblance of trust from Junior, he was a perfect stranger to the young alien after all, he could hardly blame the kid. That understanding hadn’t made the first three months any easier though. Now that he finally had enough to Junior’s trust and attention, he didn’t want to try pushing his boundaries yet.

Junior remained in his distracted state throughout the rest of the morning. The jeep ride toward the center of Armonia was spent in silence, but Junior spent much of the ride throwing long looks at the empty bench seat behind them. The concern Washington felt only grew at they continued into the city. Junior had always been quiet, but this strange distractedness was new. Briefly, Washington wondered if Junior had been acting this way for some time, and he’d only just noticed. A nagging pit of anxiety washed over him, but he forced himself to ignore it until they arrived at Dr. Grey’s clinic where he pulled her aside once Junior had settled in inside.

“What can I help you with, Agent Washington?” she asked in her perpetually bright tone. “Not reconsidering those sleeping pills, are you?”

“Uh, no.”

She frowned, hand resting on her hip as she appraised him in a way that made him uncomfortable regardless of how familiar the look was. While he didn’t miss the war or the fighting, he did miss the protection he’d felt while wearing armor. It was hardly a necessity anymore, and while he did keep his armor in wearable condition, he’d assimilated with the rest of Chorus and didn’t wear it regularly. At the moment, he would have given anything to have it as a protective layer between himself and the doctor’s stare.

“I can tell you haven’t been sleeping, Wash.”

“I sleep,” he argued, “look, I just want you to keep an extra eye on Junior, all right? He’s been acting strange all morning. I just want to make sure that nothing’s wrong.”

“Strange how?”

“Staring off into space?” Washington supplied. He paused to think for a second before continuing, “It’s like he’s waiting for something.”

Dr. Grey hummed quietly to herself for a moment. “I’ll keep an extra eye on him, Wash, don’t you worry.”

“Thank you,” Washington replied, finding himself oddly relieved by her agreement.

With a smile, Dr. Grey shooed him out the door of the clinic. “Of course, Agent Washington. Don’t worry a blond hair on your head, but don’t you have soldiering to get to?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Washington nodded to her even as he began to climb back into the jeep. He could see Junior through one of the glass windows into the clinic. He was talking to someone inside, likely one of Dr. Grey’s assistants, but Washington couldn’t make out who from the angle. He briefly considering waving goodbye but decided against it when he saw the animated way in which Junior was talking to his companion. It was likely he wasn’t paying enough attention to notice anyway. He began to bide a farewell to Dr. Grey, but she had already bounded inside, door shut, leaving Washington to his own thoughts and a short drive to the training room.

Despite the end of the war, the training room still saw as much use as it ever had. It had become a sort of hub for the reconstruction effort. It was large enough to fit the citizens of Chorus inside and centralized enough that it was only a short walk away from the mess hall. It’s where Carolina and Kimball would hand out assignments for the day’s reconstruction efforts.

By the time Washington arrived at the motor pool to drop of his jeep, any lingering concerns over Junior’s strange behavior were pushed to the back of his mind. That was in part, helped along by the fact that when he pulled in, Caboose – wearing full power armour - was holding a warthog over his head and yelling to cover up whatever Sarge – also in full armour - was attempting to yell back in retaliation. All-in-all, the remaining blue team member was doing a remarkable job of drowning the red soldier out at the expense of everyone else’s ears. A small conglomerate of former Fed and New Republic soldiers were standing nearby with hands clamped over their ears.

The situation was quickly diffused by his arrival, if Bitters’ remark of “Thank fuck” was anything to go by. Caboose set down the warthog to inform Washington that Sarge had been being “very mean” and therefore “shouldn’t get to play with his car.” In turn, Sarge had proceeded muttering about shotguns and disrespecting the noble red team, but Washington decided that it wasn’t worth the argument and ordered the whole group to the training room for assignments .

The rest of the morning was spent with the Fed and New Republic soldiers clearing out rubble from the center of town. They were very near the place where General Doyle had fired up the nuclear reactor, and Washington’s chest squeezed painfully whenever the decimated building came into view. A path had been cleared very early to find anything retrievable he had left behind, but other than that, most of the area was still in ruins having been within the blast zone. With their full armor, Caboose and Sarge were loading the largest of the debris onto the warthogs that arrived periodically to take the excess rock out of the city for easy disposal.

By afternoon they’d made a sizable dent in clearing out their section of street. A caravan came by just after one with food rations before Carolina arrived with relocation orders for their group. She, too, was dressed in full armor. In fact, she was the only one Washington hadn’t seen out of armor since the war had ended. She claimed that they needed to stay vigilant for any stragglers that had evaded recapture from the Tartarus. He had a feeling it had more to do with a residual anxiety over losing Epsilon in the last push during the war. The two of them hadn’t been together long, but Washington wondered if Carolina was still struggling with learning to function without the AI. It wasn’t his place to push her about it, so he left the matter alone.

Her own tangle of soldiers were there to relieve Washington’s squad for a new assignment in the residential district. It was one of Kimball’s top priorities to have the housing units up and running so that the army could move into more comfortable quarters than the barracks. While much of the area was intact, few of the buildings were livable yet, Washington’s being one of the rare exceptions. Sarge and Grif took the Feds to work street-cleanup while Wash, the New Republic, and a very enthusiastic Caboose put together makeshift siding and roofing one some of the less than ideal houses. By the time they’d finished their sector, the sun had begun to sink below the level of sight and everyone was exhausted. Washington would almost venture to say they were more exhausted after a day of actual labor than they ever had been under one of his training regimens. Sometimes Washington even thought that they missed running laps instead of the hauling and building they did now. He’d mentioned in in the mess hall once, but Grif had told him not to flatter himself.

The News and Feds laid around Armonia, bathed in the red of the setting sun, work done for the day. They were loud and exhausted and so incredibly youthful. Washington couldn’t help the smile on his face, an expression he kept out of sight whenever one of the cadets paid him any attention. He sat with Caboose for a while on the edge of the motor pool, drinking bottles of water supplied by the UNSC and listening to his talk animatedly about something the lieutenants had done during breakfast that morning. It was soothing, this easy atmosphere, similar to the evenings he’d spent with the simulation troopers at Rockslide, when, for just a little while, he’d thought he may be able to stop fighting one day. There was still an empty slot in his chest, an ache where Tucker’s laughter and smile were supposed to be, but it didn’t make the current moment any less bright, sitting there with Caboose.

Before long, he was back in his jeep, bidding goodbye to a cheerful Caboose who was already mostly paying attention to something the Reds had said. As he headed back toward Dr. Grey’s clinic to pick up Junior, the anxiety from that morning began to make a repeat appearance. Throughout the day he’d been able to focus on the recovery effort, but now that he had the time, he couldn’t help but wonder how Junior’s day had fared, if he’d become any less distracted. When he pulled out front, Dr. Grey and Junior were both waiting for him, sitting on the front steps of the clinic. Whatever conversation they’d been having was interrupted by his appearance, but Dr. Grey was smiling brightly at him as he approached, jeep parked near what was left of a curb. It eased some of the knot in his chest.

“Go home?” Junior asked him, pointed toward the jeep. He appeared somewhat sheepish, head ducked, fingers fiddling with the seam along the side of his sweats.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there, buddy.”

Junior jumped to his feet and headed toward the jeep. Washington watched him go and knew that Dr. Grey was doing the same. Once he’d seen that Junior had safely made his way into the car, he turned back to the doctor who exclaimed, “Junior has an imaginary friend! It’s a little odd given his age, but his circumstances are certainly strange, so I’m not too worried,” she chirped.

“An imaginary friend?” Washington parroted, surprised.

“That’s right! He’s been talking to them most of the day. Junior’s a little old for an imaginary friend, but he’s in a new place and there’s no one around that’s his age or species. It’s not entirely surprising that he’d be feeling the need to connect with someone, even someone imaginary.”

Washington glanced down the steps toward where Junior was waiting in the jeep by the curb. He was leaned forward to play with the dials on the dash but otherwise appeared perfectly content. “It’s nothing to worry about?” Washington couldn’t help but question; he needed to be absolutely sure that this wasn’t anything to be concerned over. Washington knew he’d failed in many respects over the course of his military career. Keeping close relationships had always been difficult, but he’d be damned if he let this fragile relationship with Junior fall apart like everything else.

“He’s perfectly fine, Agent Washington. It’s unfortunate that he feels isolated from the people on Chorus, but like I said, it’s not surprising. We should work on setting him up with a sturdier support structure so that he doesn’t feel as if he’s separate from the rest of the planet’s inhabitants, but he’s not in any immediate danger.” Dr. Grey smiled, “Imaginary friends come in phases, Agent Washington; he hasn’t been on Chorus for very long. Once he becomes more accustomed, the imaginary friend will likely go away.”

“Thank you, Dr. Grey.”

“Wash, you know you can call me Emily.”

Washington forced a smile in her direction. “Thank you, Emily.”

“It was no problem, Agent Washington!” she chirped cheerily. Washington turned to head back toward the road, but Dr. Grey caught his arm before he made a step. Her lips had downturned into a frown. “Do try to get some sleep tonight, Wash. You’re no good to anyone running on fumes like this, especially not Junior.”

“I sleep every night.” Which wasn’t technically a lie.

“Try to get some good sleep.”

Washington nodded as Dr. Grey’s hand feel away from his shoulder. “I know my limits,” he told her.

“Yes, well, I have plenty of medication that’ll put you right to sleep if you need it,” she replied in a tone that sounded very much to Washington like she didn’t believe him. His frown pulled down further, but he didn’t argue with her, and they both knew as he stepped down and into the jeep that he wouldn’t be back for the medication. He appreciated the sentiment regardless.

While Washington started the engine back up, Junior waved back sheepishly toward Dr. Grey who was still standing on the front steps. She plastered on a smile, waving back at Junior before they left her in the distance on the way back to their small house.

“Dr. Grey tells me you have an imaginary friend now,” Washington couldn’t help but say after they’d sat in silence for a few minutes. He tried to wrack his brain for any recollection that Tucker had ever told him of Junior having imaginary friends, if Junior had ever told him about having an imaginary friend, but he came up blank.

“Yeah,” Junior simply answered after another bit of time where he just pulled at the seam on his pants and looked out of the open window slot toward the rows of steel and concrete buildings that marked the beginning of the residential zone. It was quiet outside except for the sound of the jeep’s engine. If Chorus had any sort of wildlife still living after the disaster that had been years of civil war, Washington had yet to encounter any of it.

“Is, uh, is he – she – are they here? Now?”

When Washington looked over next, Junior was looking back at him with a surprised tilt to his head. Catching Washington’s eyes, he nodded. “He’s here. Back seat,” Junior clarified, pointing toward the open bench seats in the back where he’d spent so much of his time looking that morning. Washington couldn’t help but find himself glancing into the rearview mirror to find the seats empty. He wasn’t sure why he’d ever expected otherwise.

Junior seemed to be struggling over the words he wanted to say next either from a lack of proper translation or an uncertainty over what exactly he wanted to say. Washington stayed quiet and allowed Junior to think, a wave of sympathy wash over him when the kid began to grumble to himself in what Washington assumed must have been Sangheili. Junior fidgeted in his seat until he had managed to turn all the way around to face the empty bench in the back. His Sangheili grew louder the entire time until it became clear that he was holding a one-sided conversation with his imaginary friend behind them. Washington looked between Junior and the mirror displaying the empty seats, keeping only about half of his focus on the actual driving. Hardly anyone used the roads they were on anyway. It was unlikely that they’d run into anyone. As Junior continued his conversation, a growing sense of unease began to creep up Washington’s spine.

When Junior turned back around with a huff, arms crossed over his chest, and words quieted, Washington was more relieved that he would have ever admitted to. It was clear that Junior was frustrated until he turned to Washington before asking in English, “You miss Dad?”

Washington jerked in surprise, quickly pulling the jeep back into its proper place on the road after his ill-timed movement. The question felt out of place. This wasn’t the time or the place to be discussing Tucker, especially not with Junior. Tucker wasn’t someone the two of them talked about, despite everything. He was like a deep, dark secret that permeated throughout their relationship because he was the only reason there was a relationship. In the beginning, Washington had avoided the subject simply because he wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk about him so soon after his death, but somehow that reluctance had grown into a large monstrous taboo, and Washington wasn’t sure he was ever going to be ready.

It seemed he no longer had a choice.

As Washington considered what to say, a sharp pain constricted his breathing. Briefly he wondered if he should have pushed his own reservations aside long before now to have this conversation with Junior. Washington knew that Dr. Grey had coaxed Junior into talking about his father, but Washington had so far managed to avoid the doctor’s advances. “I – yeah,” he finally released in a long exhale. “Everyday.”

“Misses you too. Talks about you.”

Swallowing hard, Washington forced himself to continue. “He did so much good for this planet. I was proud – I am proud of him. For what he did. Even though - ” he shouldn’t have had to. He forced the words back down before he said anything he knew he would regret. Junior was still young, and while he knew the consequences of his father’s death, he didn’t need to hear about Washington’s bitterness, about how his father never should have been up on that damn ship to begin with. Junior would never be able to have either of his parents, a normal childhood, but he would be able to recover. He had Dr. Grey, and the reds, and Caboose. He didn’t need to be tainted by Washington’s anger. “I have pictures, if you want to see them.”

“Pictures?” Junior asked in surprise. Washington could see their small house down the street.

“Yeah. Uncle Caboose, he found a camera after we crashed on the planet. It must have been in someone’s cabin and ended up with us. You’d have to ask him if you want to see all of them, but I have a few at the house, pictures that I took.” Junior looked genuinely interested in the idea of seeing Washington’s photographs, and Washington found himself pleased he had kept them all, not that he ever could have gotten rid of them.

Junior seemed in much higher spirits than Washington had seen him in, well, Washington wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Junior this pleased. He practically bounced up to the house, waiting somewhat impatiently for Washington to unlock the door. Despite himself, Washington felt a smile creeping onto his face. His chest ached in a mixture of sadness over losing Tucker but relief in finally being able to open up to Junior about him. The alien had darted on ahead and was already curling up onto the couch in the living room by the time that Washington had toed off his shoes on the front mat. Junior was currently in the process of pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and tucking it in around himself like a cocoon.

“Are you hungry?”

“No. Photos?” Junior snuggled down into the couch, looking up at Washington who was still standing by the door with big beseeching eyes. The gesture was so achingly familiar of Tucker’s stare, but Washington pushed his sentimental feelings aside.

“Yeah, sure.”

He knew he’d regret not taking a shower first later, but Junior’s enthusiasm had him unable to do anything but follow his request. Inside his bedroom, he knelt to pull the box of pictures out from where he’d been storing them under the bed. Not exactly the most original place, but it had kept them safe so far. He padded back into the living room and settled down into the space Junior had left for him, allowing Junior to settling the excess edges of the blanket over Washington’s legs as much as he was able.

When Junior pulled himself closer and settled in against Washington’s side, the former freelancer couldn’t help the surprised tensing of his shoulders. Junior had never been overly affection with him, and while they occasionally held hands when Junior felt uneasy, he’d never initiated contact while they were home. After a moment of startled indecision, Washington let his arm settle around Junior. The alien practically nuzzled against him, and Washington smiled, pulling the box open and shuffling through the pictures.

It wasn’t until later that night, after they’d eaten and Junior had gone to bed, that Washington allowed himself to look at the pictures himself, really look at them. Junior had been more than content to flip through them himself without Washington’s input, and he’d been more than happy to let him. But with Junior asleep and the cracks on the ceiling staring back at him, Washington found his fingers itching to thumb through the pictures for himself. It had been so long since they’d had any contact.

Sighing softly to himself, he reached across the bed to pull the box back out from underneath. He perused the pictures by himself, silently, smiling softly at the memories they elicited. He stopped on one in the center of the deck. Caboose was in the center, just outside their base in the canyon. It had been sunny, most days on Chorus were, and the sun was reflecting against him helmet to create a glare. He had his arms wrapped tightly around Tucker, who’d had his helmet off to retie his dreads at the time. Tucker looked absolutely appalled by Caboose’s proximity and looked like he was in the middle of saying some expletive to let Caboose know as much.

It hadn’t been too long after that day that Felix had shown up and pulled apart the tiny bit of calm they’d all had. At the time, Washington had wanted nothing more than to find a way off the rock they’d landed themselves on. It may not have seemed calm at the time, especially with Washington spending a majority of his time yelling or worrying over the next disaster that was going to strike, but it had also been the first time since Freelancer that Washington had actually felt like he had a family again. He stared at Caboose’s winning smile a few more moments before transferring the photo to the back of the pile. He flipped through the next pictures quickly, knowing exactly which photo he was looking for.

He thumbed through the stack again feeling anxiety rising in his chest when he couldn’t find it. He set the box to the side, up and on his feet immediately. He must have left it out in the living room after he’d coaxed Junior into eating something for dinner. When he’d packed up the rest of the pictures, he must have left it out on the table or the couch. He paced around the house, worry boiling in his stomach and growing more noticeable the longer he came up empty. He could feel himself growing frantic, and he also knew that he was being ridiculous. It was a single picture; he had no reason to freak out about this.

When he started pushing through the mismatched cooking utensils in the cupboard, not exactly being subtle about it. “Wash?” Junior asked from the doorway. Until he’d spoken, Washington hadn’t realized he’d woken, but with the frantic way he’d been peeling through the pans in the cupboard, it was really no surprise. Washington knew Junior didn’t sleep well, and as well as the rising anxiety, he suddenly felt a great deal of guilt as well for waking him.

“Sorry, Junior, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Junior tilted his head, blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he watched Washington. “Hungry?”

“No. I just – I – I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted with a sigh, rising to his feet.

“Something wrong?”

Washington ran a hand down his face, trying to quell the influx of warring emotions, guilt and anxiety. “I lost one of the pictures; I was just looking for it.”

Junior shifted, feet shuffling against the ground. After a moment, he pointed at himself. “I took it.”

“What?”

Junior transferred his weight from one foot to another awkwardly before turning back around to the hall. He came back a minute later and handed the photo out to Wash. It was a headshot of Tucker he’d managed to get after the first time the two of them had kissed. Washington hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d been sitting on top of the base, looking at the fauna up around the top of the canyon. The vegetation always seemed to glow brighter at night, and with the light from the gravity lift down below, it had been a rather peaceful place. Washington had spent many nights like that at the crash site. What had been different was Tucker joined him, dressed down in sweatpants and a tee while Washington had still been mostly in armor. Washington hadn’t been able to take his eyes of him. He’d looked gorgeous with his hair down against the backdrop of the glow from the gravity lift. Washington had been able to snap a picture just as Tucker had been turning back to look at him, mouth spread wide in a grin.

Gingerly taking the picture from Junior, his heart ached when he looked at it. “Sorry,” Junior murmured softly. It was clear he was embarrassed, maybe even a little weary that Washington would be angry with him. He wouldn’t meet Washington’s eyes, although most of Washington’s focus was on the photograph.

He pressed his fingers over the picture in an attempt to memorize every detail. He never wanted to forget the warm glow of Tucker’s eyes or the way the way the gravity lift lit up his skin. With a soft exhale, he stepped closer to Junior and handed the photo back to him. “You should keep it,” he said softly, smiling as best he could. “I have others.” He wasn’t surprised that Junior had chosen this photo out of the lot, it certainly wasn’t the only one of Tucker he had in that box. The same thing that drew Washington probably drew Tucker’s son as well. The completely relaxed nature of Tucker’s posture, the way the light glinted against his skin and his dark eyes gleamed.

Junior looked up at Washington with surprise. “It’s yours.”

“I know,” Washington answered. “But you should have something to remember him by too.” He knelt so that they were eye-level. “I need you to keep it safe for me though, okay?” Junior took the picture and clutched it to his chest, nodding vigorously. “It’s late, and I have to work in the morning, so I think we should both head to bed.” Junior nodded, slower this time, smiling down at the picture in his hand.

Washington made sure Junior made it back into bed before heading back to his own room. The ache in his chest persisted, but he forced himself to pack back up his box and settle is back in the safety that was its place under the bed. He laid down, arms clasped over his chest. The stains above seemed to be mocking him, so Washington forced his eyes closed and his mind to relax.

Washington wasn’t exactly sure when he fell asleep, but he groaned when he heard a voice presumably attempting to wake him. It had been a long time since someone had needed to wake him. He rolled onto his side, trying to bury his face into his pillow and ignore the sound. If it was important whoever it was could go get Carolina about it. More than likely it was something ridiculous. Chorus was full of ludicrous situations like the Sarge trying test a new weapon on Caboose or Donut attempting to replace everyone’s armor. They were hardly situations that required Washington’s expertise, and with his constant lack of sleep neither of the generals would blame him for sleeping in for just a little bit.

“-Dude, seriously. If you don’t wake up soon, Junior’s gonna get up, and you’ll be late for whatever the hell it is you do now.” The words were distant at first, muffled through Washington’s sleep-addled mind but becoming more crisp as he began to wake. “Wash. Waaaaaash. You know I hate waking you up because you never get enough sleep, but seriously –“ Washington bolted into an upright position because he knew that voice.

It was a voice that was so achingly familiar in way that made Washington’s chest lurch. The sudden movement cut Tucker off, Tucker who was dead, but also Tucker who was lying in bed with him. For long moments, Washington is unable to process exactly what he’s seeing, Tucker laid out to his left, head propped up on his arm, eyebrows raised in a somewhat sarcastic gesture.

The motion was completely Tucker from the curve of his brows to the twitch of his lips. Washington’s immediate urge was to reach out and smooth his fingers over those soft lips. It was a gesture that he’d made many times in the past, running the pads of his fingers carefully to feel the way Tucker’s lips curved into a smile at the ends even as he puckered his lips to press kisses against Washington’s hand. It was a motion he resisted now, curling his hands around his knees to keep them stilled.

When it becomes clear that Washington isn’t going to be the first one to say anything, he smirked. “Speechless, huh? Yeah, I have that effect on people.” Tucker’s expression sobered. “It’s about time you started to see me too though. I love seeing my kid, don’t get me wrong, he’s awesome, but I’ve wanted to talk to you too.”

Long minutes passed by, although Washington hardly noticed the time, eyes fixed on Tucker in a stare that would have been considered rude in any other circumstance. Tucker hardly seemed to care, positively preening under the attention. It was such a very Tucker reaction, that Washington’s heart stuttered in his chest. “I’m dreaming. I’ve got to be dreaming,” he reasoned with himself. It couldn’t be anything else. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamed about Tucker in such vivid detail either, but it was the first time the situation fit. It wasn’t the two of them cuddled up on his bunk in the barracks or on the roof of their base on the crash site, this was Tucker laid out on his bed in the house he shared with their son.

At his words, Tucker appeared affronted as if the words were a direct jab at him. “Dreaming? Excuse me, I’m right here, in the – well, not exactly flesh, but, you know, here.” Tucker pushed himself up to sitting, and Washington felt a flash of cold douse him, like turning on a cold shower or having someone dump a tub of ice water over his head. Tucker stared back at Washington for a few heartbeats before turning his attention down to his hands. He began to wave them in the air in front of his own face. “I’m a ghost, I guess, ‘cause I died, you know? And, I mean, we thought Church was a ghost once, but he was just a computer program, but I’m definitely not that.” He turns to look at Washington again with alarm in his eyes. “Oh, God, I’m not a computer program, right? I can’t possibly sink to that level of nerd.”

“You’re not a computer program, and I still don’t believe that I’m actually awake,” Washington replied.

Tucker just shrugged. “Well, thank fuck for that. The AI thing not the dreaming thing. That’s all you being in denial, dude.”

Tucker laid back down, flopping on his stomach. He crossed his arms and rested his head against them, looking over toward Washington. His shirt was riding up, showing the small of his back, and Washington wanted nothing more than to smooth his hands over the sliver of dark skin, to push his shirt up higher to press over the notches in his spin the way he knew Tucker liked. Fighting down the urge, he relaxed back into the sheets, weary about the smirk that was on Tucker’s lips. “So, you dream about me often?”

“Making you run drills.”

“Oh, you’re no fun. Gotta dream about making people run drills because you can’t make them do it anymore with no more fighting and shit.” Tucker smirk never faded when he added, “You’re welcome for that. I’m the damn hero at the end of the book, so, suck on that or whatever.”

Despite everything, Washington felt himself smiling. “Yeah, a big damn hero. They’re going to hold a ceremony and everything. Might even make a statue of you to put up in the town square.”

“Damn right, they are!” Tucker exclaimed. He grinned widely over at Washington before pausing. A look of rare concentration crossed his expression, before he returned back with a soft smile. “Junior’s waking up. If you wanted to make breakfast or whatever, you should probably actually get up. Not that I don’t like lying in bed with you or anything.” Tucker reached out to trace the scar that crossed through Washington’s eyebrow. It was a gesture he’d become fond of while they laid in bed together during the war. Other than a sweeping feeling of warmth to replace the cold douse he’d gotten earlier, he felt nothing. Not even the ghost of fingertips like he usually did when dreaming.

The lack of touch caused a sick feeling to pool in Washington’s stomach despite the warmth of the action. He reached out to grab at Tucker’s wrist but felt nothing. Frowning as Tucker retracted his hand to his side, Washington watched Tucker sit up. Washington quickly made to follow suit. He’d had enough of the scenario, of this imaginary Tucker in his bed. All he wanted was to start his morning with Junior and ignore the sick feeling in his stomach.

From the bed, Tucker continued rambling on about something, but Washington wasn’t paying attention anymore, couldn’t pay attention because he was on his feet, getting changed and Tucker was still there. The thing about Washington’s dreams, his nightmares was that as soon as he left the bed, they virtually faded from his memory. He had always been able to push them aside to avoid them debilitating his functioning. This Tucker appeared more resistant than most.

“You know,” Washington found himself saying, “they told me a lot after Freelancer that I losing my mind. I felt like it most of the time, but I didn’t ever hallucinate. I saw visions, memories, but I never actively hallucinated.”

Whatever Tucker had been saying was cut off by Washington’s words. He pushed his hair back before standing up and making his way across the floor to Washington’s side. Just as the first time he’d reached out, Washington couldn’t exactly feel Tucker’s touch as he laid a hand against Washington’s chest, just the accompanied soft warmth. “You’re not crazy. Freelancer fucked up your brain, I get that, but you’re not imagining this, imagining me.” Tucker smiled at him. “Can’t get away from me that easy.”

As Tucker pulled away from him, Washington’s breath hitched. He forced himself into a slow exhale, closing his eyes before reopening them to watch Tucker leave the room. His movements looked effortless without having to support a full suit of armor. At the same time, Washington could see where his training regimes back in the canyon had done good for Tucker’s muscle. “Wait,” Washington called just as Tucker disappeared around the corner, a thought occurring to him. Tucker twisted back around sticking his head in the doorway. “Junior’s imaginary friend, is it –“

“Me? Yeah.” Tucker shrugged, “He’s been seeing me for a few days. It was about time you got with the program.” Washington received a wink before Tucker withdrew his head back into the hall. Washington hurried in pulling on the rest of his clothes before going out to meet Tucker and Junior in the kitchen.

Typically Washington was the one who prepared everything in the morning, but it seemed even Junior saw what a monumental moment it was that he’d been up and moving before Washington. He’d poured himself and Washington cereal, chatting to Tucker in Sangheili, although Tucker’s seemed to be somewhat stilted in comparison. It was a moment that struck Washington as vitally important, standing in the doorway to the kitchen to watch his lover and his son sitting around a table together. The way Tucker’s eyes shown when he spoke with Junior reminded Washington of the nights atop the base in the canyon. Washington knew this was a moment to be memorized, something that he would need to remember before it was gone.

Then Tucker was turning back toward the hall, smiling at Washington in a way that made his chest constrict. “What’s taking so long?”

“I’m just – I – nothing.”

Washington sat at the island, savoring the warmth of the Chorus sun against the countertop while he ate, one eye always on Junior and Tucker who were sitting across the table from him. Junior seemed overly pleased that Washington could now see Tucker too. Before long it was the three of them piling into the jeep for downtown Armonia. In the ride there, Washington had had every intention of telling Dr. Grey that there was something wrong with him, well, other than the usual. However, when he was standing in front of her, dropping Junior off – Tucker wanted to stay behind and go with him into Armonia in the off-chance that anyone else could see him now too – he found himself unable to. Additionally, there was a guilt part of his mind that hoped that no one else would be able to see Tucker. It was clear as he spoke with Dr. Grey that the doctor was oblivious to his presence, and it settled a dark curling jealousy in his chest. He wanted to keep Tucker to himself, if only for a bit longer. He had no idea when during that short morning he’d stopped thinking of Tucker as some broken part of his psyche and instead as an actual, tangible thing. Not that Tucker was exactly tangible.

Thankfully for Washington, Dr. Grey seemed none the wiser about his momentary hesitation, sending him on his way. Throughout the day, no one made any note of Tucker despite the fact that he followed Washington around most of the day. A few people mentioned feeling warm or cold spots which Washington had come to realize had to do with Tucker’s moods and proximity. When he was upset at virtually being ignored by the entirety of Chorus however unintentional, the people near where he was standing felt shocks of cold. Typically, the soldiers in Washington’s daily squad received waves of warmth from the pleased way Tucker reminisced to Washington or made sappy comments about him or Junior. Washington found that that last bit made him much happier than it probably should have.

All-in-all, Tucker spent the majority of the morning trying to antagonize people into seeing him before becoming discouraged by the lack of recognition. His mood began to pass as morning turned into afternoon, and he settled in along the side of their word zone lounging around while Washington and the rest of his team worked. It was clear his was pleased about his ability to laze about while everyone else was working, not that Tucker would have been able to help with anything anyway.

Because of him, Washington spent most of the day distracted, trying to keep on task with what his recruits were saying but always more drawn to Tucker talking on the sidelines. Sometimes he spoke to the other workers, sometimes to Washington, but never in a constructive manner. Despite Washington’s hopes, the Feds and News weren’t oblivious to his disordered state, casting glances at each other at significant moments, but Washington forced himself to ignore them beyond snapping out orders. He had no way to justify his actions, and when quitting time rolled around, he was one of the first to head back home. They picked up Junior without incident and spent the remainder of the night watching movies that Junior painstakingly picked out in the living room.

The three of them were curled together on the couch with Junior tucked in the middle. Junior had pulled a blanket tightly around himself and nuzzled as much into Tucker’s side as he could manage given that Tucker didn’t really have any sort of physical form, not that that seemed to bother Junior in the slightest.

Not for the first time that day, Washington felt as if this is how the three of their lives should have been, wrangled together on a too-small couch.

It was a thought he couldn’t shake as he woke Junior who’d fallen asleep against Tucker’s chest to herd him into bed. It persisted when he followed Tucker into what should have been their bedroom, and they laid down on opposite sides to one another. Washington rolled on his side, dressed down in sweats, facing Tucker with a stretch of empty space between the two of them. Tucker was in a similar position, head pillowed on one arm to watch Washington across the bed.

“This is kinda weird, isn’t it?” Tucker asked. “Me being a ghost.”

“Kinda weird,” Washington couldn’t help but agree.

Tucker let out a small huff of laughter, smiling softly. “I wonder what I’m here for, you know? Like there’s gotta be unfinished business or some shit I’ve got to take care of, ‘cause that’s how it always works in the movies.”

“This is hardly a movie, Tucker.”

“Yeah, okay, I know, but there’s got to be something. I didn’t just come back from the dead for nothing, so there has to be a reason. Maybe I’ve got to like, save the planet from unknown destruction or use my kickass sword to slay a dragon; hero stuff.”

“I hardly think you’re here to help slay a dragon, and the only thing Chorus has to worry about anymore is which team is going to win the next Grifball game.” Tucker smirked at him, but Washington couldn’t help but agree with him on one aspect at least; if Tucker really was some sort of ghost, brought back from the grave, there had to be a reason.

Washington was still having trouble coming to terms with this whole strange situation. In all honestly, he’d been doing his best not to think too much about it, instead using the time he had to simply bask in Tucker’s unexpected, but not unwelcome appearance. It was easier that way. Washington had seen a lot of shit in his life from everything he’d gone through with Project Freelancer and then the Simulation Troopers, but this, this supernatural element had him far out of his depth.

So, ignoring the absolute improbability of the situation, he knew his main concern should be the whys of Tucker’s sudden reappearance in the land of the living. People didn’t just come back from the dead as a ghost or otherwise. If they did, then Chorus would have been a hotspot for ghost activity. Many people had died during Chorus’ final assault against Malcolm Hargrove and his forces; in the scheme of things Tucker had only been one of many casualties that day.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Tucker’s words were more than enough to knock Washington out of the deep thoughts he’d been immersed in. He refocused his gaze to find Tucker watching him with critical eyes. His smile hadn’t gone exactly, but it had dimmed somewhat while he regarded Washington. Carefully, Washington laid his hand on the bed in the space between them. “You,” he answered honestly, voice soft. Tucker reached out to lay his hand in a similar fashion, close enough that they could touch if only Tucker had had the capacity for a more physical form.

“Well, duh.” There was definitely an eyeroll there somewhere before Tucker decided to continue. “You want to be a little more specific?”

“I’m just wondering how much time we have.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but it was hardly a lie either. He couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take for Tucker to find ‘his purpose’ and how much longer after that it would take for him to disappear again. How many more nights they would have to watch movies with Junior or how many more mornings he would have to wake up to the sight of Tucker with him rather than just a dream.

“Hey, stop it.” Tucker reached forward to smooth his hand over the distressed crease in Washington’s brow. “You’re doing that thing where you’re thinking too hard. Your face gets all scrunched up.”

“It does not,” Washington protested.

Tucker just smirked. “Totally does, dude.” He let his hand fall to rest between the two of them again. Washington wanted to reach out and lace their fingers but refrained. He knew it wouldn’t be the same, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was in the right mind-set to deal with that right now. Instead he just watched their hands, stretched out into the empty space between their bodies. His fingers were still while Tucker’s would move occasionally, restlessly, and Washington supposed he had every right to feel restless.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there staring, listening to his own breathing and wishing he was able to hear another, but Tucker’s movement caught his eye and had him looking up. Tucker shifted closer until there was hardly an inch of space left between the two of them. There was nowhere to look but the deep brown of his eyes, hand gripping the small space of sheets that still separated their chests.

“You’re thinking too much.” Tucker ran a hand down his side in what was likely meant to be a soothing fashion. Instead, Washington found himself still mildly disconcerted by his inability to feel the gesture as more than just a flash of warmth over his skin. “You should sleep,” he continued softly, “you don’t get enough of that.” Washington felt the urge to protest; he didn’t get any less sleep than he ever had with the reds and blues, but found himself unable to, feeling the dregs of sleep beginning to pull him down instead as if on command.

Washington woke to the sound of coughing from another room. The space Tucker had been occupying was empty, but when Washington focused, he could hear Tucker talking from farther away. Pulling a sweatshirt on over his tee, Washington went to find where Tucker had disappeared to. The hall outside was quiet, but Washington had a strong suspicion he knew where Tucker had run off to. The Chorus sun hadn’t risen yet, so the house was still cast in darkness. Light spread out from under Junior’s door down the hall; Washington didn’t hesitate to push it open slowly.

Tucker was curled up under one of Junior’s blankets with him. The two of them were sitting up with a book spread out across their laps. The light from inside was mildly blinding after the darkness from the rest of the house, but Washington still caught Tucker’s eye when he lover looked up briefly at his entrance before continuing to read to his son who was huddled under his arm. Washington braced his shoulder against the doorway, letting the two of them have the time together. It was a few minutes before Tucker began to pull away, assuring Junior that he’d be back soon. Reluctantly, Junior released his hold on Tucker’s shirt, allowing him to slip off the bed.

“I think Junior’s sick,” he told Washington in a hushed voice, pressing him back into the hallway and out of Junior’s hearing. As if on cue, Junior began coughing, gulping down a glass of water from the table next to his bed once his voice when hoarse. Tucker glanced back in Junior’s direction the entire time in concern. A once-over from the doorway led Washington to a similar conclusion; the kid looked absolutely miserable, and Washington’s heart ached to see him in such a condition. “We should take him to Dr. Grey in the morning, just to make sure.”

“Of course,” Washington agreed.

Tucker gave him a tight smile. “I’m going to stay with him. You can stay too if you want. Family cuddles.”

“Tucker, I don’t think – “

“Well, then stop thinking.” Tucker grabbed Washington’s hand and pulled him over toward the bed that was definitely not built for two grown men and their half-alien kid. Tucker made himself comfortable, pulling Junior against his side and patting the small bit of space still left for Washington.

Resigning himself to a night spent in a cramped bed, taking care of a sick Junior, Washington squeezed himself into the remaining space. Tucker flipped open the next book that Junior had in a small stack and continued to read. It wasn’t until much, much later that Washington realized that when Tucker had grabbed his hand, it had been more than just a corporeal feeling, but Tucker had actually grabbed his hand.

The thing about keeping secrets from Dr. Grey was that they never seemed to stay secrets for long. Washington knew the moment he saw her the next morning that she knew about Tucker. A part of Washington felt a bubble of jealousy but a greater portion was relieved to find that someone else could see him too. So, for once in his life, it wasn’t his head playing an awful joke on him.

Dr. Grey’s absolute shock melted away at the sight of Junior, although Washington noted that she kept an eye on Tucker the entire way through the reception room. Tucker had led Junior out of the jeep by the hand, and he’d grown noticeably more ill throughout the course of the night. The fact that Junior had managed to fall asleep at some point during the night had been the only thing keeping Tucker from demanding they take him to Dr. Grey before her clinic officially opened. Instead, they’d allowed Junior as much sleep as they could before loading in the jeep as soon as the morning came. Even now Junior was sleep weary, eyes dull and movements slow.

“You are going to explain everything as soon as I get back,” she warned, guiding Junior into one of her examination rooms in the back. Initially, Junior seemed reluctant to leave Tucker’s side – and in all honesty, Tucker didn’t seem too keen on the idea either – but she stressed that it would be the best for the both of them until Tucker conceded.

“He’s going to be fine, Tucker. No one is better at this than she is,” Washington assured him. “Let’s sit down.” The reception was quiet, without the war going on, Washington knew Dr. Grey saw a significantly smaller number of patients. It was part of the reason she’d volunteered to watch Junior while he was working on the rebuilding efforts. It gave both Dr. Grey and Junior company for the day.

Sitting in some of the clinic’s provided chairs proved to only make Tucker more jittery than he had been, or, at least made it more noticeable. His leg bounced, and his eyes were anxious as his gaze darted around the room. Attempting to calm him, Washington reached across the space between them to lay his hand in one of Tucker’s. It stilled his movements for a minute while he looked at their interlaced fingers. Washington smiled over at him, running his thumb over Tucker’s knuckles and marveling at this impossible chance to touch his lover again.

For those few minutes after Washington reached out, Tucker remained still while the two of them basked in the comfort of one another. “I don’t know what I would have done if we’d left you at Sidewinder or the Feds had killed you,” Tucker admitted, quietly. He still hadn’t looked up, and Washington knew this was one of those rare moments where Tucker was actually contemplating all the things he’d done to lead him to where he was. He knew from experience that the choices he’d made were something Tucker didn’t like thinking about; he really couldn’t blame him.

“You probably would have killed Caboose.”

Tucker huffed in laughter, and Washington felt the mood between them lighten considerably. “Probably.” He squeezed Tucker’s hand while Tucker shifted over and rested his head on Washington’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss into Tucker’s hair before Tucker tilted his head to meet their lips. It was a heart-stopping moment for Washington, the feel of Tucker’s lips against his own, because he could honestly feel the sensation, the warmth of Tucker’s skin against his own, his breath against Washington’s face when he pulled barely away to catch his breath before pressing in again, hot and wet and insistent because he needed that contact after going so long without it. It was the most alive Washington had felt since the war.

Washington pulled away, putting a small bit of distance between the two of them. Spending long moments memorizing Tucker’s eyes and the slope of his brows, the way his lips always seemed to crook upwards on the ends. He could feel the way that the tension leeched out of Tucker’s muscles when Washington passed a hand over his shoulders and down his arm. He was glad that he could provide that comfort during Tucker’s distress, that he could distract Tucker even just a little from worrying over his sick son.

They spent a long time like that, with Tucker curled against his side, breathing easily. His earlier anxiety seemed to have stilled, although his fingers were still restless running over Washington’s own, tracing over the bones to keep himself busy. Silence persisted between them, but it wasn’t oppressive, and Washington basked in the quiet of the moment.

“I’m worried about Junior,” Tucker finally said into the quiet of the room. “And, uh, thanks for, you know, taking care of him. You didn’t have to do that.”

Washington tipped his head down in the hopes of catching Tucker’s eye, but he continued to stare forward. “It’s probably just a bug.” Washington wracked his brain, but couldn’t remember any of the cadets coming down sick recently, not that Junior had a whole lot of contact with them. Washington let the silence surround them for a few minutes before continuing. “I’m glad I took him in. I know you wanted to after the war was over. I’m sorry you never got that chance. I just thought – I just thought that he deserved some normality too. After everything that’s happened, it’s just not fair –“ Dr. Grey chose that moment to come striding from the backroom, interrupting Washington’s words.

Tucker was on his feet in a moment, “How’s Junior?”

“Sick,” she answered briskly. She pulled a chair from nearby, swinging it around to face where the two of them had been seated, completely ignoring Tucker’s clearly disgruntled expression. She sat down herself and indicated for Tucker to do the same, which he complied with after a second of grumbling. Washington reached across the armrests to recapture his hand in an attempt to sooth his lover. “So, Tucker, why don’t you tell me how you’ve miraculously managed to escape death? I did run the scans on you after we found your body on the Staff of Charon. I am perhaps the most aware of how very dead you were at the time.” Washington didn’t even notice his hold tightening with Dr. Grey’s words until Tucker gave him a gentle squeeze in return.

“You tell me what’s wrong with Junior first.”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Dr. Grey admitted with a frown, “but I do have a suspicion, but I really do need to hear more from you to be certain.”

“I don’t know how I got here, okay?” Dr. Grey nodded for him to continue, eyes alight with an eagerness Washington recognized. It was the same look she had when he let something slip about Freelancer or Sarge detailed a new bionic plan to her. She was clearly fascinated with Tucker’s resurrection, and well, Washington could hardly fault her for that. She’d always been excitable, and Tucker was the new miracle of the century. “I remember dying, kind of. We were on that Charon ship and were getting all ready to kick their asses, but something was wrong with Church.” Tucker’s brows scrunched together, eyes downturned, “He was dying. He did die.”

There was a long moment of silence before Tucker decided to continue. There was really nothing for either Washington or Dr. Grey to say. They hadn’t just lost Tucker that day, but they’d lost Epsilon too.

“I don’t know anything after they broke the door down and even that is pretty fuzzy. It’s like listening to the radio; you can hear what everyone’s saying, but you can’t see anything. But, yeah, after that I was just at home with Junior.”

“I see, and how long ago was that?”

“I don’t know, a week?” Tucker looked over at Washington when he said it, as if asking for confirmation.

“It’s been about a week,” he confirmed. “Junior was able to see him before I could. I’ve only been able to see Tucker for a few days.”

Dr. Grey nodded, “And how long have you been corporeal then?”

“What did you just call me?”

“Corporeal,” Washington repeated. “Just today, until now it was just warm and cold spots, we couldn’t actually touch. Today he feels solid.”

“Fascinating! Tucker, do you mind?” Dr. Grey held out her hand. Using his free hand, Tucker reached out to her. “This is absolutely astonishing,” she murmured while running her hands over Tucker’s own, up to his wrist and over his arm. After a minute or two of examining Tucker’s physical form, she released him. “Ever since we discovered that we could activate the alien temples across Chorus, I’ve been studying them in my free time. I already had a good idea how they operated, but I wanted to know what each of them could do. The discoveries could have been monumental toward rebuilding the planet and keeping the people safe from future calamity.”

Tucker shrugged. “Yeah, the alien stuff is cool, whatever. What’s this got to do with Junior?”

“Everything!” Dr. Grey sprang to her feet in her enthusiasm. “I’ve been studying the temples. I have a good idea about what each of them do now. There’s the telecommunications temple, the procreation temple, the vegetation temple –“

“And Junior?” Washington prompted.

“Yes, and I believe Junior has managed to activate one of the temples. The Temple of Desire to be exact. From what I can tell, the temple’s designed like a giant genie’s bottle. Whoever activates the temple is granted their deepest desire. It’s similar to the testing grounds where we met Santa.”

“So what, the aliens can use magic now too?” Tucker grumbled.

“No, nothing like that. The temples aren’t magic, nothing on Chorus is, but what they are is extremely old technology. The temple can’t just conjure the desire up from nothing, instead it uses the life-force of the ‘wish-caster’ to manifest the desire.”

Tucker frowned, pulling away from Washington to stand up as well. “Are you saying that Junior wished for me?”

Dr. Grey smiled at him sympathetically. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe. Junior has no biological family left, and he’s always been an outsider here on Chorus. His loneliness drove him to create a manifestation of his father.” She took one of each of their hands, guiding them back together. “He likely also saw the loneliness Agent Washington felt now that you were gone and wanted to put his family back together again.”

Breath caught in his throat, Washington squeezed Tucker’s fingers between his own. “Temples have to be activated by a key, but Junior wouldn’t have a key, so how can Tucker be some manifestation from one of them?” Washington couldn’t help but ask. “The only time I’m not with Junior, he’s here. He wouldn’t have been able to get to the temple to activate even if he did have a key.”

Dr. Grey nodded along with his words. “Junior’s an anomaly that hasn’t been on Chorus in a long time. Half of him is a descendent of the alien race that created these temples and the other half is the son of a key wielder. It’s hard to determine just what sort of abnormal control Junior may be able to wield over these temples without even realizing it, especially in a moment of high emotion. It’s more than possible that he’s able to activate the temples simply by shear proximity. It would seem in this situation that Junior’s loneliness reached out to Santa without him even needing to be near the temple.”

“Okay, so Junior’s great, he activated a temple. How do we fix this?” Tucker’s voice was even, but Washington could tell that he was fighting to stay in control of his volume. Washington guided him back to sitting, running a soothing hand along the column of his shoulders.

Following suit, Dr. Grey sat before continuing as well. “As I said, the temple uses life-force as a generator, a sort of battery. Because Junior activated the temple, Junior’s paying the price of his wish. The longer Tucker stays here the stronger he will get, but the longer he stays, the sicker Junior is going to get. The temple is using his life to fuel Tucker’s regeneration.”

“I’m the reason Junior is sick?” There was a note of despair in Tucker’s voice that Washington never wanted to have to hear from him. A glance beside him, showed that Tucker looked like he was going to be sick himself.

Dr. Grey’s voice was soft when she spoke, placating. “Tucker, this isn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for what’s happening.” When Tucker opened his mouth to make what was sure to be a sharp retort, the doctor cut him off. “I’m not telling you to blame Junior either. This is an unfortunate situation,” she laid her hand out on Tucker’s knee. “No one is at fault.”

Her brown eyes were earnest as she leaned toward Tucker comfortingly. It took a minute or so before he finally nodded back at her. There was a soft smile on her lips when she pulled away, a sad smile. Tucker cleared his voice when Dr. Grey had straightened back up in her chair. “So I’ve just got to die again, right? To make Junior better?” Tucker pulled his hand away from Washington’s own and leaned forward in his chair.

“Tucker –“ he began, a cold feeling creeping up his spine.

Tucker spoke over him, comments still directed at Dr. Grey, “That’s what’s got to happen to make Junior better again. You said while I’m still here he’s just going to get sicker, so the only way to make him better is for me not to be here.”

Nodding, Dr. Grey confirmed Tucker’s words. “That’s the only way to stop the process.”

“All right, how do we do this then? Put me out in my sleep, jump into a volcano?”

“Tucker, stop it!”

Because how could he not stop the words? How could he sit there quietly while Tucker and Grey planned just the best way to end his life? Blood pounded in Washington’s temples hard enough that he could feel it as a dull ache behind his eyes. He didn’t want to lose his son either.

Tucker turned toward Washington at his outburst. If anything, he seemed surprised if his expression was anything to go by. Washington hadn’t even realized he’d leapt to his feet until Tucker rose to his feet to join him. Angrily he stared down at his hands clenched at his sides. Tucker gingerly took both of his fists and uncurled his fingers. For a second Washington resisted, nails digging into his palms before conceding and allowing Tucker to lace their fingers together. “Hey, look at me,” Tucker said softly. Dr. Grey rose from her chair and left the room leaving the two of them alone. “Wash.”

Tilting forward, Tucker placed a kiss on his cheek before reaching up to hook his hands around Washington’s neck, holding him close. For a minute, Washington just allowed the contact, relishing the feel of Tucker pressed so close to him before wrapping his own arms around Tucker’s middle. Tucker’s breath was hot against his neck, and Washington took a deep breath, eyes closed, nose pressed against Tucker’s skin. “I don’t want you to go,” Washington finally said. He was rather proud of the fact that his voice didn’t crack.

“I can’t let Junior die.”

“I know,” Washington breathed. He took half a step back to put a small amount of distance between the two of them. He kept his arms hooked around Tucker’s middle, thumbs smoothing over the indentations of his ribs. Washington couldn’t look at Tucker as he continued, but he could feel those brown eyes on him the entire time. Instead he looked down toward the floor, studied the pattern on the mismatched tile work. The broken tiles had been repurposed from other places around Armonia to make a complete set that didn’t match. “I know, but – but, I could activate the temple. Junior doesn’t need me, he needs you. I could give that to him, to both of you. You deserve so much more than dying in some stupid war.”

Tucker just shook his head, Washington could tell by the way Tucker’s dreads brushed against his skin before Tucker stepped back into his space and laid his head on Washington’s shoulder. “You’re such an asshole.” There was no bite to his words, and the breath he released spoke more toward weariness than anger. “Some things can’t be fixed by sacrificing yourself.” He leaned up to press a kiss to the side of Washington’s mouth. “Say we do that, that you activate the temple or whatever, and I come back again. It’ll kill you eventually, and then what happens to me? No more life to feed on, I’ll just starve or something, then Junior will be alone.”

“You don’t know that’s what would happen.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but I won’t risk that. I’m not going to leave Junior alone, and I’m sure as hell not going to let you kill yourself in some weird misguided attempt to keep me alive.” Tucker kissed him again, and when he did, Washington raised his eyes shyly to see a soft glimmer of unshed tears in Tucker’s. “Wash, I did my time, died a big goddamn hero too, but now I need you to take care of Junior for me. Wash, I need you to do this for me, please.”

“I – yeah, yes, of course. Of course I’ll take care of Junior.”

Tucker’s arms began to pull away, hands running down the sides of his face, he closed his eyes briefly, relishing the intimate contact, before reopening them to meet Tucker’s own. Left hand resting against Washington’s chest, Tucker’s other hand traced over the shell of his ear, the stubble on his jaw, down over his adam’s apple, fingers light against his collarbone. “I know you will.”

Overwhelmed, Washington pulled Tucker’s body tight against his own, mouth hard and demanding. Humming almost happily against his lips, Tucker’s hand fisted into his hair while the other cupped his jaw until they both had to pull away for breath. Washington continued to press kisses against Tucker’s cheeks, his lips, his neck. “I love you,” he murmured after every one, memorizing the hitch of Tucker’s breath, the warmth of his skin.

Hands carding through Washington’s hair, Tucker repeated the sentiment, and for long moments they stood there in Dr. Grey’s clinic basking in each other presence in silence. It was Tucker who finally broke the spell, Washington’s heart lurching in his chest when his lover began to pull himself away from the embrace. It was a terrible feeling, the worst feeling. Just as bad as losing Maine to Sigma or all the times he’d lost Epsilon or received a beacon during his time as Recovery One. It was tearing him apart, and he wanted nothing more in that moment that to curl up and sob, to hold Tucker until he changed his mind.

He didn’t do either of those things. Instead he accepted Tucker’s final kiss, one hand still in his. “I’ll see you later, Wash,” Tucker said with a smile. He didn’t look back when he stepped through the doors to the back rooms.

For a long time after, Washington stood there, eyes glued to the door as if expecting Tucker to come back through at any moment. Eventually he migrated to one of the chairs, sitting there until Dr. Grey came back into the reception, Junior in tow. At their entrance, Washington rose back to his feet, giving Junior the best smile he could and holding out a hand. “Let’s go home,” Washington said softly.


End file.
